


Well-Worn Pyjamas

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Cupid (TV 1998)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-12
Updated: 2007-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire takes the rest of the day off work; holes up in her apartment and sleeps more than she needs to, indulges herself in every heartbroken cliché she's ever resisted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well-Worn Pyjamas

Claire takes the rest of the day off work; holes up in her apartment and sleeps more than she needs to, indulges herself in every heartbroken cliché she's ever resisted. She's a full grown adult, not given to self-pity, but when she turns her face into the pillow and smells Alex on the linen she breaks down and cries until her eyes are so swollen and her nose so red that she's actually glad he's in New York and not around to see the effect.

She resolutely doesn't open a bottle of wine.

She could work the next day – it'd probably be healthy to impose a little order on her world, meet some deadlines – but she cancels her appointments all the same, clears her schedule for the week, shuffles around the apartment in pajamas and a ratty old t-shirt, eats cereal for every meal. There's an awful lot of cable television that needs watching, and there's mail to ignore, and there's Alex's phone call to replay over and over in her head while she sits on the kitchen floor, arms wrapped around her knees, missing him with every, aching fiber of herself and stunned by how much it hurts.

When someone knocks at her door just after 3am, she's still awake, buoyed by naps and too much coffee made too late at night, and the only person who'd have so few social skills as to stop by before dawn is Trevor, so she may as well deal with his craziness now. She pulls open the door, schooled by hapless resignation, and sees flowers before she sees Alex; roses, tulips, freesia and shock of dark hair that only resolves into what she's been missing when several seconds of shock have passed.

"I told you to expect flowers," he says, and he's so nervous – she can see it in the way his eyes are flickering left and right, the way he's licking his lips.

"You're – it's 3am," she says, stunned.

"I drove."

"Drove?"

"I couldn't get a flight on such short notice and it's hard to use the company plane when you've . . ." He looks down at his feet, then back up. "Resigned."

She feels her breath halt at that, as if she's taken a full body blow. "Resigned?"

"Couldn't do it," he says, swallowing hard. "Put the phone down last night and – " He pushes the flowers at her. She takes them.

"You're – you resigned," she says again, dumbly.

"Claire – "

"Oh god," she mumbles, drops the flowers, wraps her arms around him and squeezes so tight she can hear him hiss in discomfort, but he doesn't ask her to stop, just brings his arms up to wrap around her and squeeze her right back.

"We're sorta in the hallway. A little," he whispers after who knows how long.

"Yeah," she agrees, not moving.

"Maybe I could come in?"

"Yeah," she says, clinging tight.

He kisses the side of her neck and with his arms still around her, hitches her up off her feet and carries her into the apartment, kicks the door closed behind him, neighbors be damned. When he sets her down she realizes, horrified, that she's been in the same pajamas for 36 hours, that she hasn't showered, that her hair's a mess, that she's teary and her nose is running and there are way too many cereal bowls littering her coffee table for anyone who's well-adjusted and for whom someone should leave a job.

"I gotta – " She swipes at her cheeks and gestures upstairs. "I'm – "

"Beautiful," Alex says, framing her face between his hands, and oh she's missed those hands, those long, square-tipped fingers, and it's only been two days.

She pulls a face, laughing and tearing up in roughly equal proportion. "Not remotely," she says, shaking her head.

But he leans in and kisses her, familiar rasp of stubble against her cheek, soft press of tongue coaxing her lips apart to welcome his breath, and he doesn't seem to mind greasy hair and ratty t-shirts, seems to love her anyway, holding her like this is what he was meant to do.

He pulls back eventually and his lips are swollen. "You're kinda ripe," he confides, and she laughs, running a self-conscious hand through her hair.

"I – kinda didn't – " She gestures.

"Since I left?"

She blushes, but nods, glances up at him and sees relief on his face. "I could shower?" she offers.

"Room for two?" he asks, linking their hands.

She nods. "Room for two," she agrees, and leans in to kiss him again, tugs him upstairs and leaves the flowers on the hallway floor.


End file.
